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“Do you think it brutal,” she asked, “to teach a bird a few warm phrases?” She smiled slightly.
    â€œIndeed, yes,” replied Lydia, leaning earnestly forward. “Both brutal and malicious. Not only is one corrupting an innocent creature; one is thereby making it an instrument for the corruption of mankind. That is very, very wrong.”
    â€œBut a parrot does not understand what he says,” argued Anne, becoming a bit interested in the subject. “How, then, can one call him corrupted? He speaks in all innocence, whatever he says.”
    Lydia smiled pityingly at her, then looked at Laurence with wide eyes. “We poor women must admit our ignorance of these complex ethical questions,” she said sweetly, “and appeal to one who can settle the matter. What do you think, Laurence?”
    â€œI think you are perfectly right,” responded Reverend Debenham.
    Lydia turned back to Anne with a triumphant smile.
    The corners of Anne’s mouth turned down. “How far is your house from us?” she asked Mrs. Branwell, pointedly turning away from the others. “I have not yet visited the town.”
    Lydia’s mother looked almost frightened at being addressed. “Not far,” she managed to reply. “About six miles.”
    â€œYou had a lovely day for a drive.”
    Mrs. Branwell merely nodded, without raising her eyes again.
    â€œWhat have you done this morning, Anne?” asked Laurence. “Have you found it difficult to amuse yourself at Wrenley? It is very different from school, I suppose.”
    â€œI have been a little restless,” admitted Anne. “I mean to go riding tomorrow.”
    â€œIt is strange,” put in Lydia Branwell, “but I have never been bored in my life. I have heard people talk of boredom, but I really do not understand it. There are always a thousand useful tasks ready to hand. Or one can read.”
    This effectively stopped the conversation.
    â€œAre you fond of reading, Lady Anne?” added the other girl after a short silence.
    â€œNot particularly. My friends at school were always passing around some novel or other, but I never found them very interesting.”
    Lydia looked shocked. “I did not mean… That is…”
    â€œLydia does not read novels,” explained Laurence.
    His fiancée shook her head. “No, indeed… I would never… I was referring to improving books.”
    â€œI see,” said Anne dryly.
    â€œMy father has just published a volume of his sermons,” continued the other eagerly. “It is a truly uplifting work. I will send you a copy if you like.”
    â€œOh, ah, thank you.”
    Miss Branwell smiled complacently. “I think you will find it far more useful than any novel.”
    â€œI’m sure I shall.”
    Something in Anne’s tone made Laurence turn sharply to look at her. She saw it from the corner of her eye, but made no sign. However, her initial happiness at having visitors was fading rapidly. “I wonder what has become of Mariah?” she said. “I sent a footman after her a quarter hour ago.”
    â€œMariah?” asked Laurence.
    â€œOh, yes. I forgot to tell you. Miss Mariah Postlewaite-Debenham arrived this morning, my chaperone.”
    â€œDid she indeed? How fortunate that she should be early.”
    Anne smiled.
    â€œDid you like her?” added Laurence, seeing her expression.
    â€œYes indeed.”
    â€œBut where has she gone? Why isn’t she down to tea?”
    â€œShe is outside. It seems that she is fond of gardening, and she wanted to look over the park.”
    â€œAh. I believe Charles did say something about that.”
    â€œI wager he did,” murmured Anne.
    â€œWhat?”
    She shook her head, and was spared from answering further by sounds on the staircase outside. As these increased in volume, it was apparent that several persons were approaching, and in